I wanna just dance, but he took me home instead
Uh-oh, there was a monster in my bed
We french kissed on a subway train
He tore my clothes right off
He ate my heart and then he ate my brain
- Lady Gaga - Monster -
Come on, Harrison, take the-
The gun went off and he felt the bullet slam into his chest, the vest taking most of the force, but not all, and he stumbled back, clutching his torso and trying to regain his breath.
She'd cocked the gun as soon as he'd started forward, another shot ringing out a split second after the first. Eric collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, a bullet hole in his forehead, and she only spared one glance towards him before she was flicking the safety on her gun and shoving it into the back of her trousers, hurrying to Moran's side. "Fuck, I wasn't fast enough, shit, are you okay?" she rambled, hands hovering over his chest, her eyes wide.
He gave her a distracted thumbs up, still working on catching his breath, as Dewitt called down with evident delight. "Are they both dead? Or just your brother?"
"Just my brother," she called back distractedly, beginning on unstrapping the vest from him - the dent in it would only be a hindrance. "He should have shot me instead. Mistake on his part."
"Shame. Oh well, just makes my life more entertaining," the voice sneered. Moran finally got a full breath as the vest was pulled away, taking another moment before standing slowly and giving Harrison a nod.
She dropped the vest and let out a sigh of relief, grateful that he was alright. If he'd gotten hurt because of her, there'd have been hell to pay. From Jim, and from her own conscience. "Ryan," she shook her head, looking back up at the ceiling. "Just stop playing. I'm done with games. Remember the last time you tried to play a game with me? How long did it take you to get off the drugs again?"
"About four hours. I don't get addicted easily," DeWitt crooned. It had taken much longer, really. He'd been a mess for months. But it was so much more entertaining to crush her dreams. "Now, if I were you, I'd move away from the door. Just a suggestion."
She moved instantly, a hand going around Moran's wrist and yanking him after her to the other side of the room. She'd just reached the doorway over the bathroom when there was an earsplitting bang and the steel door came flying in a few feet and crashed onto the ground, leaving the two of them coughing out the dust trying to get into their lungs. She didn't know why she was just as surprised to see big men who looked like security pouring through the doorway and surrounding them. They must have all been Moran's size.
"Now..." came Ryan's voice, "This will be much easier for your friend if you don't struggle."
He really should have been furious, but his concentration was elsewhere. Sizing up his opponents, noting scars and muscles that indicated fighting styles and weaknesses. They were vastly outnumbered, but it might be possible to break free... he stood tensed and ready to fight.
"Anything I can do to ease this situation a little, DeWitt?" he called up.
"Let me think about that for a moment..." he chuckled, not even bothering to sound half-serious. "No. Really, it was unfortunate you had to be here, Mr. Moran, I have no quarrel with you or your employer. But my lost little bird here..." he trailed off, and Lorna was pretty sure he was smirking. This was why she hated nicknames. DeWitt had a habit of making them. "You ought to come home, birdie. And you will. If you don't, I'll have them kill Mr. Moran, and I really don't want to do that."
"You do realize that if you kill either of us, you'll be making an enemy of Moriarty, yes?" Moran pointed out coolly. "Think about that for a moment. Is that something you want to do? Think about the enemies of Moriarty and how they fare for just a moment."
"Magnussen seems to be doing quite well for himself," DeWitt laughed, then sighed. "I'm disappointed in your silence, Lorna. Take them to the riverbank. If she remains silent, shoot him and then toss him in the river."
Lorna swore as the men surrounding them moved forward, one of them twisting her wrist until she was forced to let go of the gun in her hand, and then she was being forced out the door, too many hands on her for her to be able to struggle away from any of them. Fuck fuck fuck. She had to agree, or Sebastian was going to get killed. FUCK.
For Harrison's sake he held his punches, waiting as the walked along for a mistake to be made, for their moment to come. Let their captors feel secure... then strike.
She was still lost in thought as she was forced through the tunnel, though some part of her brain registered that there was a thump behind her of feet hitting the floor. So DeWitt was going to follow? Willing to expose himself on the beach, just for this? He must have been angrier than he was letting on. A few more feet and then she was being forced to her knees on the rocky sand, hissing slightly as they jostled her cut. As Moran was similarly forced downward next to her, she looked over her shoulder, tracking DeWitt as he came out of the tunnel. He still looked, for the most part, the same. Same sallow skin, same green eyes, same carefully-styled blond hair. He smiled at her as he reached the beach, and she dropped her eyes, shoving down a swell of nausea.
"You going to make this easy for yourself, little birdie? Easier for all of us."
Moran took in their surroundings carefully, cataloging advantages and weapons. They were in a fairly deserted area, but a few blocks down the pier was a restaurant strip that had a good night life. If they could make it there they'd be able to blend into the crowd. But it was a matter of getting there. And the gun nudging the back of his skull was certainly an obstacle.
She stopped being able to look over her shoulder back at Ryan when the goon behind her nudged her head with a gun, and she took a hint, staring straight in front of her at the edge of the water. "Here's how this is going to work," he started, his voice unbearably smug. "You're going to come back and work for me. And this time, you'll do whatever I say." His voice became a little darker, maybe a little more bitter. "You'll do this or my friend will shoot yours in the head. You have until the count of three. One... Two..."
Fwit. Fwit fwit fwit fwit.
Lorna flinched at the telltale sound of a silenced gun (guns?), grunting as the man behind her clipped her shoulder on his way to the sand. What the fuck had just happened?
Sebastian reacted immediately to the sound of the guns, dropping at the same time the man behind him did and pressing himself to the slimy pier. When it stopped he didn't move, taking in the situation slowly, hoping the dark would lend him cover.
"Mr. DeWitt, I presume." The voice made Moran's blood run cold. Fuck. Not now... He remained slumped to the pier.
"Who the hell-"
"I'm Mycroft Holmes, as I'm sure you're well aware. Now, the gentleman with the gun to your head is going to escort you to a vehicle. I would ask that you go quietly. I really don't need you enough to permit any trouble. Ms. Harrison, I'll be with you and Mr. Moran directly, I really wouldn't attempt that bolt you're considering. I have excellent snipers."
She settled from the tense crouch she'd shifted into - unlike Moran, she'd been trained to run from situations, not to hit the floor - and took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. This would not end well for them. It would end worse for her, after the knife she'd put through Holmes' hand, but it wouldn't end well for Moran. She heard two steps of footsteps moving away, and was comforted by the fact that at least she was free of DeWitt. It wasn't a huge comfort, but it helped. Another goon who looked just like the one that had been shot behind her in the dark walked up to her and roughly yanked her hands behind her back to put her in cuffs, then hauled her up using only her arms. "You've got excellent timing, Holmes, I'll give you that," Lorna said dryly, determined not to let him know that she was scared beyond reasoning.
"I'm glad you can appreciate it," he returned with equal dryness. "You can get up out of the muck, Mr. Moran, we're aware you aren't dead."
Moran shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. "It was worth a shot," he chuckled, though he was still tense, eyes watching the two men approaching him. He was just about to strike-
"I hope I need not remind you of the snipers," Mycroft said, and a bullet hit the pavement an inch from his right foot. He relaxed slowly, relenting to the message. They needed him alive, not walking. "No, no, I think that's clear."
Lorna hissed as the thug in charge of holding her gave her a bit of a sharp push towards the street, jolting the wound Hiram had given her. That was going to be used against her too, she was sure of it. Fuck, this was bad. No way it would be as easy to escape as it had been last time, either. Not that they would even go to the same place. "Put them in the car. You know the drill. I'll see you in a few hours, my criminal friends," Mycroft said sardonically, tilting his umbrella to examine the sand that had collected at the tip. Then she was practically carried up the bank to the street and unceremoniously pinned against the side of a nondescript black car and blindfolded, and finally, was shoved into the back seat.
Moran was shoved in immediately behind her, also blind, but he could feel her familiar form shoved against his side. "How's your side doing?" he asked under his breath as the car started up and they took off for who-knew-where.
"Not great," she murmured, forcing herself to sit up a little straighter despite the fact that she had no idea how low the ceiling of the car was. "And I suspect once they find out about it it's not going to get any better. At least you weren't tranq'ed this time."
"Yeah, that's a bonus," he agreed, and sighed. "Can you tell if it's still bleeding? I don't need you bleeding out on me, we're in enough of a mess as it is."
She shifted around a little, trying to gauge any new dampness on her shirt without the aid of her hands. "I don't think so, but I'll let you know if I start feeling dizzy." She gave up the strong and tall pretense and slumped back into the seat, a little glad that she could feel Moran right beside her. "I don't know what I can give them this time. I don't think this will go well for me."
"It isn't going to go well for either of us, but you're right, he's pissed at you in particular. I'll try to shift some of the focus my way, just shut up for once, okay?" he muttered gruffly, letting out a grunt as the car went around a tight corner.
She sighed, bracing her foot against the seat in front of her to keep herself from moving any more. "This is my fault, Sebastian. I'll take what comes to me. Don't make it worse for yourself if you don't have to, please," she said quietly, trying to keep her tone non-confrontational. She felt guilty enough about this without him trying to take some of the heat. He didn't need to know this, but she would have said yes to DeWitt rather than see him shot and thrown in the Thames.
"Don't be a fucking twat," he muttered. "You think I'd be taking any blows for you? Fuck no. But if I can keep him occupied and annoyed with a bit of chatter, I will." He focused on her next to him, on the smell of freshly-detailed car, so different- different - than the humid reek of the backseat of an offroader stuffed with him and five others, sackcloth scratching his face and neck as they jostled along a jungle road. He was in London, and he was heading for a place he could escape from, easily, with Harrison in tow. No one left behind.
She couldn't help but laugh quietly. "Okay, I can't argue with that. Chatter all you want," she smirked, then sighed, closing her eyes beneath the blindfold. "I'm going to try and get some rest. I don't know what they'll have in store for us this time. Here's hoping it's nothing to do with bugs."
He chuckled, but didn't comment in case someone was listening and decided reruns would be entertaining. "Just shut up and sleep if you're going to, Harrison. And don't die. Or I'll be pissed off."
"I'll do my best, sir," she snorted, adjusting a little so that when she fell asleep she wouldn't just melt all over Moran. With one more passing thought about how lucky she was that she could sleep anywhere, she drifted off.
When she woke up again, someone was already dragging her out of the car.
"Oi, fuck off mate. I know I'm pretty, but keep your hands to yourself, how 'bout you?" Moran spat at one of the guards as they hauled him out. No one had touched him, but there were few better ways to attract attention. "How about you fondle your buddy there, and leave me out of it?"
"Shut up and walk," the larger of the two grunted, shoving him forward.
"Easy, sunshine, just making conversation."
Lorna remained silent and docile, unwilling to pass up this chance more than once. Either way, she'd had enough attention from armed, crude men today. Whoever was directing her was quiet about it, using only nudges to indicate turns as they entered some building. She lost track of turns almost immediately, but she did notice that the floors squeaked under her shoes, and she could see light through her blindfold. Somewhere just as clean and official as the first time, then. It would be a mistake to throw them into a room without a concrete lock, though, so where were they planning on placing them? The thought was jarred out of her as whoever had a grip on her upper arm jerked her to a halt, turning her towards them slightly. "This one's already hurt. Fresh blood. Did the retrieval team get sloppy?"
"No, she came in like that. Was already in a tight spot, must have happened then."
"Rough day for you, huh, ginger?"
Moran rolled his eyes beneath the blindfold. "Not that this isn't entertaining and all, but can you lot just piss off? Either put us where you're keeping us or let us go, because unless anyone's bending over any time soon, you're boring as fuck and I'm tired."
"This is why I didn't want to dye my hair," she muttered as the guy holding her made an irritated noise and got her moving again. This time it wasn't far at all. She heard a door opening, could briefly see a bit of wall as her blindfold was whipped off, and then she was shoved into the room hard enough that she fell, taking the force of it on her shoulder with a yelp. A moment later and Moran was booted in behind her sans-blindfold, and then the door was shut and she couldn't see a thing. They were going to be stuck in darkness this whole time? There must have been lights in the room, of course, it was too much of a security hazard not to have them on whenever someone had to come get them, but... Christ. She pushed herself up into sitting position and scooted towards where she thought the wall was, only ending up against something that stuck out of it at her shoulder level. She got up with a hiss to bump it with her knee and try to figure out what it was. "Damn," she snorted, "They must be planning a prolonged stay. I found a cot."
He sighed, pushing himself off the ground and starting to feel around. "There's another one over here. Ah, and they've been kind enough to provide us with a toilet. Charming." He sat on the cot, feeling around it for anything useful.
She sat down on hers, too, and leaned against the wall a bit uncomfortably. She would feel better if she wasn't handcuffed and she could check her cut, but she would have to do without. The only question left of any real importance was how long they would be in here before someone came for them. In the jailbreaking sense, and in the torturing sense. "I kinda miss the other room, to be honest."
"No thank you," Moran snorted, assuming a similar position on the other cot, though he didn't know it. "No thank you. I'll take pitch black to fucking overstimulating white any day."
"I have a suspicion we'll be getting that blinding white every time they open the door anyway," she sighed, staring up into the blackness with a growing hatred for the itch on her nose. "I hope they locked up Dewitt, at the very least. He deserves it."
"Interesting that Holmes took him... I would have expected him to put Dewitt down with the rest of them," he muttered. "Wonder what use he serves?"
"I don't want to think about it too hard," she murmured, making a face that she knew he couldn't see anyway. "All I know is- fuck!" Whatever she knew was cut off as the room lit up and it suddenly felt like her retinas were being fucking stabbed.
"Come along, little birdie," came DeWitt's voice, disgustingly cheerfully, and someone who felt much stronger than the kingpin dragged her off the cot and half-carried her to the door.
Moran swore as the light came on, but leaped to his feet as soon as he heard the voice. "Hey, leave her alone!" he ordered, trying desperately to get his eyes to work but already heading in the direction of the voice. As soon as he could see shapes he was lashing out with his feet, but his depth perception was off and he missed. He was trying to get a better idea of where the shadows were when he felt a jolt of electricity, and his body stopped cooperating. The taser dropped him, and before he could get his feet under him, he heard the door slam shut.
Fuck.
"I've been wanting to do that," DeWitt chuckled as the guards pushed her down the hall. "Idiotic oaf."
"Contrary to his occupation and stunning good looks, he's actually quite bright," Lorna sassed, unable to keep herself in check now that she knew what was waiting for her. She would sustain herself with the knowledge that she would kill Ryan, and he would die screaming. "But I guess you wouldn't know that. Look at you. Getting yourself all mixed up in this. You're going to regret it. One of them is going to kill you. Maybe I'm going to kill you," she smirked, and was rewarded with a jostle from one of the guards.
"No, actually, I don't think so," DeWitt chuckled. "Though I admire your enthusiasm. Mr. Holmes and I have worked out a contract deal of sorts. He feels I'll have more luck with you than he will."
"I bet that's because the last time he put hands on me I pinned his hand to the wall with a knife," she snorted, looking around as he led her and her guards into a cleaner room than the horrific atrocity she'd been stuck in last time, where they roughly pushed her face down onto the table to undo her handcuffs, then flipped and strapped down on her back. She sighed. "Could have done with a chair this time, to be honest."
He shrugged a little, walking over to a table outside of her field of vision. "The table's better for the time being. Easier access," he said, returning with a tourniquet and starting to secure it higher up on her arm. "I've been thinking about how best to take my revenge on you for a long time, birdie," he said with a smile. "I thought about killing you, all sorts of different ways. Thought about fucking you, but a slut like you wouldn't be too bothered by that, would you? You've had half of London and most of Asia between your legs at one point or another. So the best way I can think of is also the simplest." He tied the tourniquet and ran soft fingers down the inside of her arm.
"No," she said instantly, without thinking, yanking hard at the restraints, feeling like something had crawled inside her chest and squeezed her lungs. "No, no, no, Ryan, don't," she pleaded, eyes flicking up to him, wide and scared. "Don't do this to me again, don't do this to me again, please, anything but this! " she shook her head, still attempting in vain to get out of the straps pinning her to the table. "Ryan, please."
He let his head tilt back, taking a deep breath, expression blissful as he listened to her pleas. "You know how long I've been wanting to hear that? Hear you begging?" he sighed. "It's music. Bach and Chopin have been outdone. As for you..." He leaned over her, smiling. "I'm going to give you a taste, that's all. Just a taste."
"No, no, don't," she kept going, now trying to catch his sleeve, his shirt, anything to keep him from getting a syringe, anything but that. She couldn't do this again, couldn't be that person again. Amazingly, she managed to twist her wrist enough to get a death grip on his belt, pulling him closer to the table. "No. I rather you kill me. Don't- don't do this. If you're going to do this you might as well kill me, cause that's where I'll end up, okay? Okay?"
He laughed, waving the guards off, leaning down to kiss her roughly, hands shifting to undo his belt buckle. He stepped away a few moments later, leaving the belt in her hand. A guard stepped forward to wrest it from her grip a moment later as DeWitt started to prepare a syringe. "Lorna, darling, look, see?" He stepped back with a syringe that was barely a quarter full. "Not even a full hit. That's not going to do anything, is it?" he asked, smiling.
His distraction tactic worked - she was too revolted to notice what he was doing until it was too late, and then that potential weapon was taken from her as well. "Yes it is," she protested, gritting her teeth hard so she didn't do the alternative and bite through her tongue. "I haven't.. I haven't had a hit in years, okay, you know that, don't you? Anything else, Ryan, I'm begging you."
"Got to do better than that," he cajoled, tapping the syringe as he walked over, stroking his fingers over her arm to find a vein.
"Tell me what you want from me, tell me what you want," she said frantically, twisting her arm down so he couldn't access her inner arm. "Please, I don't - I've never known what you want, okay? Wasn't doing this to me once enough?" she strained at the restraints again, trying to get free, despite the fact that there were two quite burly guards by the door.
He smiled at her. "This is what I want, Lorna," he says softly. "You, begging, in my power, eating out of my hand. I want this. I want you hooked and begging. I want that. That's all. It's that simple." He grabbed her arm with bruising strength and twisted it outward, and jabbed the needle in, depressing the plunger swiftly. "Enjoy."
She grit her teeth and pressed her head back into the table, squeezing her eyes shut. If she was lucky, this was a bad batch, and it wouldn't work, or it'd kill her, but she wasn't a very lucky person. It wouldn't be long now, either way.
"Alright, that'll be all, gentlemen," DeWitt smiled, waving to the guards. "I'll be fine from here on out." He walked over to Lorna and checked the locks on her ankle straps, before walking up to untie her wrists and chest. "May as well let you sit up," he said with a smile, stepping back out of reach quickly.
Lorna sat up, if only because it would make the heroin travel a little slower up her arm. "Pretty brave of you to dismiss them, when I could throttle you at any moment," she said half-heartedly, all the fight drained out of her. She was powerless against this. "People on heroin can still kill, you know that."
"Yes. But if you kill me, your source dries up, and you get turned over to Mycroft Holmes," he said, smiling a little. "Though I suppose you should be allowed to pick your poison."
"I want my source to be dried up," she snapped, not willing to pretend she was enjoying his little game. "I told you I rather be dead than this. I would have thought after the last time you would have learned that I mean what I say."
He laughs a little. "Alright, fine, fight all you want. It isn't going to change the fact that you're an addict, birdy. You can't fight what you are."
She didn't respond, leaning forward and beginning to undo the straps holding her ankles down as fast as she could, despite the fact that it made her side start screaming at her. "Fuck you. I'm an addict, but I'll fight it until it kills me. I'll kill you too."
"Good luck with that, dear, they're locked," he smirked, nodding to the padlocks on each buckle. "Five digit combination. But by all means, start guessing. Maybe you'll get lucky and it'll be all zeros."
She stopped and considered him for a moment, a muscle in her jaw jumping. She could probably reach him from here, if she lunged, but it would really, really hurt. The odds that she'd successfully get a combination out of him were astronomically small. But she'd give him a black eye if that was the last thing she did, damn the consequences. She lunged for him, and there was a split second where she thought he was too far and she was just going to hurt herself on the side of the table, then she got ahold of his collar and yanked him closer, shouting as the clotting her wound had done was undone and a fresh batch of blood oozed down her side. "Combination, please. Do you need both of those eyes?"
He remained calm, reaching up to grab her wrists carefully, firmly, thumb stroking over the bruise left by the needle. "Can you feel it yet?" he asked calmly, holding her gaze. "Feel it starting to work its way into your system?"
She could. And it felt great. She'd forgotten the creeping bliss of it. She hated how much she liked it. Anger welled up in her chest at him for doing this to her again, after everything she'd done to get free of it. She jerked her wrist out of his grip and brought her hand back to slam into his face with a sickening crunch. "Feel THAT."
He let out a cry of pain and kicked the table to break free of her grip, jerking back well away from her as he reached up to grab at his nose, which was crooked and bleeding. "Alright, bitch," he growled nasally. "We can play the game that way if that's what you want." He headed for the door, pulling it open and turning to look at her. "Why don't we let that hit settle in a little and see how you do."
Lorna didn't grace him with a reply, just spitting in his direction and wrenching at the ankle restraints again, wondering if she'd be able to slip free if she took off her shoes. Not that even really mattered now. She could feel a slight heaviness in her limbs, and it wouldn't be long until she felt too good to care where she was.
He stepped outside, walking around the corner and stepping into the observation room, a hand pinching his broken nose to try and stem the flow of blood. He sat in a chair, watching the screens, and reveled in the situation. The pain was worth it. She was going to crumble in his hands.
Eventually she stopped struggling and let her back hit the table again, sighing. Within a few minutes she was wondering why she'd ever quit heroin. There wasn't a single inch of her that didn't feel perfect.
He watched as she melted slowly onto the table over the next few minutes, and smiled. There it was. He had her. He knew he did.
Two hours later he walked into the room, giving Lorna a smile from where she was relaxing on the table. "Hello, birdie. How're you feeling?" he asked, smiling toothily.
"Better than you, probably," she chuckled, stretching out like a cat in a motion that would have really hurt if she'd been capable of pain at the moment. "Really good... why did I stop this?"
"Because you're stubborn, dear," he sighed, walking over to the table and returning with a full syringe, tapping carefully, staying well out of her reach. "What do you say, Lorna? Do we top you off before you go back to your cell? Or would you rather run dry?"
"What kind of a question is that?" she laughed, holding out her arm to him. "Yes please, thank you. Sorry for breaking your nose. Now you know why Mycroft hates me."
He smirked, tossing her the capped syringe. "You'll forgive me if I don't trot right over. And I've hated you much longer than Mycroft, dear. No hard feelings."
"I hated you fiirrstt," she sang, just barely managing the coordination to uncap the syringe and sit up so she could find a decent vein, and then went about the familiar motions of shooting up and tossing the syringe into a corner. "No offense, but you were kinda a bad boyfriend. You should work on that."
"I'll try. Seems you're a bit spoken for at the moment, however. Mr. Moran hasn't stopped beating the walls since he gained his feet. He's very put-out. Shall we go see him?" He asked. "I'll unlock your feet if you promise not to bite."
"Yeah, okay, let's go see 'em. No biting. Scout's honor," she nodded, putting on a very serious face and then chuckling, unable to maintain it. "Anyways, Tiger's the one who bites, not me."
"Come along, birdie, I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that," he smirked, walking over to unlock her ankles and offering her a hand up. "Shall we?"
She made a humming sound of confirmation, taking his hand and using it to steady herself as she slid off the table. When she was so buzzed it was a little harder to walk in a straight line. She hoped Moran was in a good mood.
He led her through the halls, occasionally stopping to steady her, unlocking the cell door. "Go on through," he said, smiling. "It'll lock behind you."
"Cool," she hummed, opening it and slipping through, idly taking the tourniquet off, and closed the door behind her, shutting her back into the darkness. "You in here?"
"Harrison." Moran stood quickly, cursing slightly at the blackness. "What did they do to you?"
"Some, uh," she chuckled, "Some really good quality heroin. Where's the cot? I don't feel like I need to be standing..."
There was a long moment of silence. "You had better be fucking kidding, Harrison. Really. This had better be a fucking horrible joke."
She made a mildly unhappy noise, having bumped her shin in the dark on the cot. She sat down heavily, sighing. "Nnno. No joke. If it makes you feel better I didn't want the first hit. M' pretty sure I broke Dewitt's nose. Heh heh."
He didn't answer, laying back on his cot and staring at the ceiling, fist clenched tight with anger, trying to decide who he was more furious with, Lorna or Dewitt. It was pretty easy to settle on Dewitt, but he wasn't going to risk going near Harrison either.
She didn't try to force conversation, happy to just lie down and just feel good. She hadn't felt so good in years.
It wasn't until a few hours later that she shifted, her breath hitching, and she curled in on herself, scraping her nails across her scalp. "Moran?" she whispered. Now she remembered why she'd quit. Now she felt like she was about to die.
"Getting yours, finally?" Moran sighed, sitting up slowly. He'd been expecting this.
She couldn't speak for a moment, too horrified to. How long would it haunt her this time? "I rather he'd killed me," she said finally, her voice hoarse.
He stood slowly, taking a breath and walking over, feeling around before sitting in the free space on her cot. "How much did he give you, do you know?"
"A syringe and a quarter, I think," she said quietly, swallowing hard. She curled up more, trying to give him more space, trying to make him less angry at her. "I can't.. I can't deal with this."
He took a slow breath. "It wasn't your fault, Harrison. You're being tortured. I'm furious as all hell. But not at you. How can I help?"
"There's really.. nothing you can do," she shook her head slightly, knowing that he couldn't see it. She felt like she needed to throw up. The months it would take to recover from this blow... She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to focus on breathing. She felt like shit now. "You should just kill me," she continued, her voice a little quieter, maybe a little more scared. "I can't- I can't say no once they cut me off. Whatever they'll ask, I will tell them. Whatever they want me to do, I'll.. I'll do it. It would be... better if you didn't let me."
He sighed, then reached out, his fingers brushing across her chest, and then, suddenly, closing over her throat. Tight. He felt her jump slightly, and leaned down to whisper in her ear, expert fingers letting a small stream of air past her throat. "Is this what you want, Harrison? You want to give up? Want to hand over the keys on your life?"
He kept his grip firm for a few seconds, feeling her pulse under his fingers, before he released her. "Don't fucking ask me that again. I will make your life more miserable than it currently is," he spat, standing and stalking over to the far side of the room.
"I'm not suicidal, Moran," she snapped, coughing as she regained her breath and sitting up. She felt too much like death to be able to put up with Moran's crap. "I'm not giving up. I'm being real fucking LOGICAL about it. You haven't been on heroin. You don't know the lengths you're willing to go to get another hit. I'm saying that I will have a moment of weakness that trumps all my other weaknesses, and I will say something I shouldn't. Something that might get the network in trouble. I know their goddamn address, don't I?" she hissed, jabbing her elbow back into the wall just to try and feel some pain, just to make sure she wasn't still intoxicated. Then she sagged, growing a lot quieter. "I don't want to die here, okay? But I'm not going to fight you if you decide it's for the best. I wouldn't win, anyway..."
"It's not for the best!" he said furiously.
It was. He knew it was. He should have killed her the moment she came back hopped up. He knew exactly what she would do to get another hit.
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Those aren't your calls to make."
"I've been around you long enough to learn the kind of calls you make," she snorted, unable to work up the energy to be truly angry with him now. "It's not like I'm fucking forcing you either, Christ, I'm not making the call. It's your decision. It's always your goddamn decision," she huffed, laying back down on the cot. "This is how shit works with you and me. You decide whatever the fuck you want to do and I react to it."
"I'm your superior officer! Of course that's how it works!" he growls. "Stop trying to make the noble fucking sacrifice. We're both fucked. So grit your teeth, and do your damn job!"
"What is my job in this fucking place?" she laughed, throwing her arms above her head and accidentally smacking the hard corner of the cot. "What am I going to grift? I can't fuck my way out of this one, sir, if you haven't noticed. The best I could do would be to get Dewitt close enough that I could kill him, but what then? What's Mycroft's backup plan? How will I get out of that room?" She shook her head in the dark again, snorting. "I'm a liability. You know that. I just don't understand why you're denying it."
"I'm not denying it. I'm just saying that it's not any of your fucking business how I handle it," he snarls, taking off one of his shoes and snapping it at the wall above her head.
She wouldn't have flinched if she'd been able to see what the hell had just made that smacking noise above her head and then thumped down to the cot next to her face. "Wh- Did you.. did you just throw a shoe at me?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice. She wasn't even angry. Despite herself, she giggled. "You threw your shoe at me. Your shoe."
"If I had a knife, it would have been that," he shot back angrily.
She fell silent, remembering what Dewitt had said when she'd been too high to really soak it in. This was just so.. uncharacteristic of him. When had he started giving her these free passes? She hated to think that anything that Ryan said had a nugget of truth in it - and she didn't want to think it and be wrong - but she considered the possibility. It wasn't exactly a likely thing. Still, she was less offended by the idea than she ought to be after the way her mother had gotten killed. "I was going to say yes, you know," she said suddenly, unsure exactly why. "On the river bank."
"That's the first smart thing you've said all day," he snorted. "Otherwise they would have killed me and then done the exact same things they were threatening to do to you anyway. Or worse." He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a few breaths, trying to calm down. He was being sloppy.
"I know," she shrugged, idly checking how much blood was on her shirt. "Just... I don't know. Pointing out that if I wanted to get rid of you I totally had my opportunity. You can tell Jim that if I drag you back to HQ half dead again," she joked halfheartedly, then sighed. Better to forget what Dewitt had said. She didn't need to be delusional as well as an addict.
He sighed. "At this rate I'll be dragging you." He sat up. "How's your side doing?"
"I don't know. Hard to tell in the dark. I wrenched it when I broke Dewitt's nose, and I don't know how much blood I lost after that. I mean, I feel shitty, but that's what heroin does to you when it's done making you feel good," she muttered, closing her eyes. It felt futile to stare into the dark. "No one's prodded it yet. We'll see if that continues."
He sighed, and then stood fully, walking over while pulling off his shirt, tearing a strip. "Look, I'm ripping my shirt for once," he muttered. "This is going to be tough enough to do in the dark, so no complaining."
"I can probably do it easier, I can feel where it is," she murmured, although she shifted slightly to let him know where she was. "But if you want to dote over me I'm not going to complain."
"I will punch you in the face. That isn't lethal," he snorted, tossing the shirt her way. "Fine. Do it. But if you do it wrong because you're tripping balls, then I'm going to be pissed when you die of blood loss."
"I'm not high anymore," she shook her head, fumbling a little with his shirt in the dark and setting about the business of dressing the wound. "If I was high this wouldn't hurt like it does."
He sighed, walking back over to sit down, lacing his fingers together. "I've decided I like the light better, even if it's fucking obnoxious."
"Yeah, me too," she murmured, hissing quietly as she secured the makeshift bandage. "But I'm a little pleased we have a place to sleep. I'll be glad when I get to sleep in my own bed again, though. And not Malcolm's, either."
"Amen," he snorted. "To both parts. It's about time you put that sod out to pasture, no offense."
"I'm not the one you called a sod, no need to apologize to me," she snickered, then sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I knew I was going to have to even before I left for my sabbatical. He's got a ring in the dresser he thinks I don't know about."
"You're kidding," he snorts. "Fuck, that poor animal. Should I just shoot him when we get back, get it over with? Jim wouldn't give two shits."
"Do what you want with him, I don't care either way. He held me together with scotch tape for a few weeks, but I'm not exactly fond of him. Eugh. Marriage. Gross," she huffed, rolling her eyes. Malcolm was no longer on her list of potential rebounds. Not that she had anything to rebound from at this point.
He nodded a little. "Well, that's good news. If we ever get out of here, then offing him will be very therapeutic," he said with a smirk.
"We ever get out of here, my department is going to have to step very carefully for a few weeks," she snorted, cracking her knuckles with a mild grimace. She was almost certain she'd sprained her hand breaking Dewitt's nose, but it was the least of her worries right now. "I don't see why you get to off him, though. I'm the one who fucked him."
"Fair enough," he sighed, smirking. "I suppose you can kill him. I get to watch."
She laughed, tossing his shoe back in his general direction. "Go find your own homicide, Moran, this one's mine. What claim do you have on this one?"
"He's a tosser and I employ him," he snorted, letting out a noise of complaint as the shoe barely missed his crotch, before picking it up and pulling it on.
"Bullshit, that's not a claim. You have to sleep with him first. Then you can watch," she snickered, wondering where she'd almost whacked him to have him make that sound.
"He's not my type," he snorted. "I don't do obnoxious and sniveling. Well... I do. But that's business, not pleasure."
"I don't know, I can be pretty obnoxious. Although I suspect that the last time you fucked me you were trying to get me to do what you wanted in that little game with Jim, so maybe your record is clean after all," she chuckled good-naturedly. There was no point in being bitter about it.
He opened his mouth to answer, but didn't know what to say. He wanted to say that that wasn't true, but it should be. That was part of the plan. Finally, after a bit too long of a pause, he just said "Think what you like," and left it at that. "How are you feeling?"
"Like death. That's why I'm trying to ignore it," she sighed, massaging her forehead. "I hate coming down off of drugs." She knew that she'd gotten it right. She didn't know why he was being so weird about everything.
"Can't say I've been there," he said calmly. "But it sounds like it sucks."
"If you're lucky you won't ever be here," she sighed. "I never wanted to do this again. Since you're apparently not going to kill me now I have actual concerns about my future. Shit, detoxing is not fun."
"Hopefully he doesn't dose you up again," he said with a sigh. "But I doubt it."
"Yeah, me too. It'll be worse when it leaves my system a little more. Then my brain will want it back," she muttered, silently cursing the thing. "Should I ask you to knock me out later this week, please do so. Sometimes it's easier just to be unconscious for a little while."
He nodded. "Will do." He shifted around on the cot a bit, trying to find a comfortable position on the slab before giving up and lying flat on his back. His ribs were starting to ache where the bullet had hit earlier. "For now I'm going to try and get some sleep."
The next few days (as best they could tell in the pitch blackness) were repetitive and frustrating. Lorna got dragged out in the morning, and Moran paced the cell, trying to think of a way out and waiting for her to come back. Then he'd help her to her cot and wait for her to come down, and think of different ways to try and kill whatever came into their lair. He always failed, though he was getting better at recovering from being tased.
It wasn't until their fifth or sixth day there (by his best guess) that things changed. The mooks came in at what seemed to be the usual time, and tased him, as usual, but instead of grabbing Harrison, they grabbed him, pulling his limp form into cuffs before he could regain himself and then pulling him into the hallway. He could hear Harrison asking what was going on, but her voice was cut off as the door slammed shut, and then he was brought through into a lab and strapped into a chair, despite his struggles.
DeWitt walked in a few minutes later, the purple bruises under his eyes from his broken nose only just starting to fade. "Mr. Moran. I thought I ought to change things up a little, just for posterity's sake. And you were starting to look bored. We couldn't have that," he said dryly, heading for the same cabinet that he did when Lorna was in the room, just far enough behind the sniper that he wasn't visible. "Anyway, she's not being very helpful. Offered to do all sorts of favors for me in exchange for another hit, but, well," he walked back into view, flicking a half-full syringe and grinning mischievously down at Moran, "That's Lorna, for you."
His stomach turned to ice when he saw the syringe, but he gave a broad smile. "Yeah, she's got a mouth on her. Got a good strike in, looks like. Did she talk you into walking close? Or did your dick direct you?"
His grin became a little less mischievous and a little more cold. Setting the syringe down on the table nearby, he turned to grab a tourniquet. "That wasn't the time my dick 'directed' me, Mr. Moran," he said calmly, tying the tourniquet and picking up the syringe again. "I can see why she wouldn't say anything; you look like the jealous type. Are you ready?" he asked, smirking, and then without waiting for an answer picked out a likely vein and injected Moran.
His nostrils flared, but other than that he didn't react. "So there was a time then? Do tell, story time," he said brightly, trying to keep his heart rate down, not that it would help much. He was pretty sure it was heroin and not, say, poison, but it never hurt to be cautious. He'd know soon anyway.
DeWitt set the syringe down and grabbed a chair from the corner to sit in front of Moran, smirking. "She was so disgusted when I kissed her," he chuckled, folding his hands together in his lap, radiating an aura of smugness. "I couldn't help myself, Mr. Moran, I just had to take advantage of that. I waited until she was in a low again, of course. No one cares what happens to them when they're high. You'll see. You've never had it before, have you?" he flicked his wrist up to check his watch. "I bet you'll feel it soon. Even with the hit I gave you. Didn't want to kill you on the first one, that's no fun."
He takes a slow breath, shrugging. "We'll see. I'm looking forward to seeing what Harrison's been whining about," he said coolly. "As for fucking Harrison, good on you. You've gained a special prize shared by only a third of the population." His voice was calm, but internally he was furious, and he wondered why Harrison hadn't mentioned it. He took a slow breath as an odd warm sensation started to drift over his limbs.
He shook his head, looking like he was barely holding back laughter. "Oh, I had that prize first, Mr. Moran. She was so much more innocent when we met. I suppose she could thank me for her career success," he smiled, standing up from his chair and moving to return it to his place near the wall. "I let the little birdie go under here, but I think she'll be more affected by it if she watches it happen to you, don't you?" He hummed, giving a slight wave to the two guards by the door. "Take him back. I have an appointment with the doctor I can't miss."
He wanted, very much, to kill the man. Feel his blood pulse out over his fingers, count the beats until he was empty. But instead he was brought to his rather unsteady feet by a couple of bored guards, and forced towards their cell. It was during the walk that he started to feel the drug affecting his mind, and the rage dwindled slowly away.
Lorna flinched as the door to the cell opened, briefly illuminating Moran before he was pushed into the room and they were in the dark again. "What did they do to you? Why are you back so soon?" she asked quietly, sitting up from where she'd been curled on her cot, nursing a bad headache.
"Got your hit, I think," he said, shaking his head and smiling, chuckling a bit. "It's funny..." He walked over to sit next to her, feeling around on the cot to make sure he didn't squash her before flopping back. "Totally understand now..."
She made a small noise of distress and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to take a deep breath. This meant that neither of them were going to be able to think clearly enough to get them out. Who knew how long they would remain in here? "Fuck," she whispered.
"It's fine, Lorna," he laughed. "Sure, it'll suck in between, but if we can get them to give us more than we'll- No, no that's not... Huh..." He trailed off, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember why that wasn't a good idea.
"I'll remind you why this is bad when you've come down a little," she said quietly, leaning back against the wall next to him and staring into the darkness with a creeping feeling of desolation. The only upside to this was that she was unlikely to be taken into that room again, not today. She hoped.
"You do that," he said, nodding and sighing as he leaned back next to her. "Christ... this is amazing..."
"I know," she said softly, clenching her hands into fists as she fought the urge to try and pat him down to see if he had any on him. She knew he didn't.
He looked over in her direction, trying to make her out in the darkness, before giving up and closing his eyes, resting against the wall and reveling in the euphoria.
He wasn't sure how long it had been (not long enough) when it started to wear off, but the descent was relatively sudden and incredibly unpleasant...
"Fuck... " he breathed.
"Sorry," she whispered, shifting slightly as she resisted the urge to lean into him. "I know it's shitty. I'd give you a tip or something to help, but there isn't really anything. Take a drink of water."
He closed his eyes, taking slow breaths through his nose as nausea started to set in slowly. "We're fucked," he realized, voice hoarse, throat dry. "Fuck, are we fucked."
"I know," she swallowed, looking away despite the fact that he couldn't see her anyway. "I know. We're not going to get ourselves out of this one."
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. Normally he would have stopped himself, but he didn't particularly care at the moment. "That was my bad, letting them get that far."
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," she sighed, drawing a knee up to her chest to rest her chin on.
"I should've made the call earlier," he muttered. "I'd been waiting for them to get complacent before I really pushed for us to work on an escape. I waited too long... Jesus..." He muttered something under his breath in Mandarin.
"What could we have done, Moran?" she shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Either way, I don't see why you're sorry. If you think there was something you could have done, you only dicked yourself over. I was wrecked the first day we got here."
He sighed, but nodded. "I'm gonna go lay down," he muttered, standing and walking slowly over to his cot, trying to think. They needed to get out before they gave him another dose. "So how do we escape?" he sighed. "We've got to get out of here."
"This door has an actual solid lock, unlike the other one. Every time I've been out I've noticed more cameras in the hall. Closed circuit, I'd bet. I can't convince any of the guards to help us out, either," she muttered, a sharper edge coming to her voice. She fell silent for a few moments, biting her thumb hard enough to hurt. Stop thinking about it. "...I don't think we can do it, Moran. I think we're going to have to wait for Jim."
"Jim..." Right. Jim would get them out. He nodded, taking a breath. Jim would get them out. He needed to pull it together. He sat up again. "Right. Jim will get us out. Our job is to stay on top of things until then."
"Yeah, okay," she sighed, shifting and returning to the curled up ball she'd been in a few hours ago, before he'd been just as screwed as she was. She only hoped Jim got them out soon.
He sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "How are you doing?" he asked after a few minutes. "Without your hit?"
"As well as can be expected, I guess. I feel like I'm dying," she muttered, trying and failing to turn it into a joke. She felt too worn to make jokes anymore.
He sighed, and stood quietly. Fuck it. He walked over and felt around on her cot until he found her, then shoved her over gently, laying down next to her and pulling her into his arms. "Alright, well. Die without complaining too much, alright?"
She stiffened slightly as he pulled her into him, her brain shorting out for a moment from sheer disbelief. What was he doing? Was he going to kill her after all? She thought she'd been doing rather well, considering, and now it just seemed a little late. She made herself relax in order not to put him on edge, clearing her throat slightly. "What's, um... this for?"
"You were over here being pathetic," he muttered. "Just shut up and go with it."
That did nothing to soothe her. "I've been over here being pathetic for as long as we've been here," she pointed out quietly, trying to sound a little less wired. A small part of her was very nervous about being this close to anyone. "Are you going to kill me? I would have thought it would have been a few days ago, if it was going to happen at all..."
"No, I'm not going to kill you. You know what?" he sighed. "Forget it. Never mind." He sat up and stood, walking back over to his cot and sitting down. He put his throbbing head in his hands. He didn't feel like himself.
She curled up tighter, trying to keep her breathing normal. Her face felt too hot. "I... Sorry," she whispered, swallowing hard. "I just... never mind. It's not important, just.. sorry."
"Don't apologize. I crossed a line. I'm not myself right now. Just leave it." He pressed his hands to his face.
She felt nauseous, guilt starting to raise its sleepy head in her chest. "No- Sebastian," she sat up, although she remaining in a vaguely spherical position. "No, it's... Normally I would have been fine, I'm just..." she pressed a hand to her mouth, convinced for a second that she was actually going to hurl. "It's.. It's DeWitt," she breathed, worried that if she said it any louder it would become more real than it already was. "He..."
"Oh, fuck, Harrison," he breathed, looking up into the blackness. "Shit... I forgot. Fuck. Fuck me. I'm sorry. Lorna, really..." He fell silent for a moment, then turned drove his fist into the wall.
She was quiet for a long time, pressing her forehead into her knees and focusing on not forgetting to breathe. Then she swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I thought he might get around to telling you. I- I should have. I guess I just didn't want to talk about it," she murmured, lowering her foot and scuffing it against the floor. She hadn't had her shoes since then, but it had been too dark for Moran to notice. After a moment of silence she stood and moved across the room to his slab and felt for him in the dark, finding his shoulder and turning him slightly so she could crawl into his lap, completely silent.
He heard her coming, but didn't expect her to climb into his lap. He was surprised for a moment, then just sat back against the wall and wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucking her under his chin, trying not to scratch her with the scraggly beard that had begun to appear.
"You just surprised me. I'm.. expecting the worst from people, right now," she mumbled, listening to his heartbeat, which turned out be a surprisingly comforting sound. Perhaps that was what people went on about. "Just.. warn me or something, okay?"
"Yeah. Would have, just... wasn't thinking." He shifted a little until he was more comfortable. "Sorry. Not used to trying to not scare the shit out of people. It's not my strong point."
She smiled slightly. "Yeah, I know. It's not exactly easy to think right after heroin, anyways, not your fault." DeWitt's fault, on the other hand... She sighed, relaxing completely for the first time in what was almost certainly days.
He rubbed her back slowly, absently. "Are you going to kill him, too?" he asked quietly. "Or can I have a go?"
"Only if you kill him slow," she muttered, an edge to her voice. "Only if I get to watch."
"Very, very, very slowly. You could help, if you like," he said, a touch of brightness entering his voice. "You can do whatever you like to him."
"Oh, I will," she smirked, already running through a list of things she'd seen Dewitt do to others. "We're going to need meat hooks, though."
"You don't think I have meat hooks? Please," he scoffed. "You know, I've always wanted to try one of those banana slicers on a different kind of fruit. Think that could be entertaining?"
"I think I could die happy if you used that," she replied mildly, as if a savage thirst for vengeance hadn't just flared up in her chest. "You'd probably have to take a few hours off, too, cause I don't think I'd let you leave my sight. We're definitely doing that."
He laughed. "Excellent. I look forward to it." He reached up to brush his fingers through her hair, not minding that it was greasy. They were both filthy. "Oh, I've got all sorts of ideas now. I hope he's listening."
"Me too. I still don't think he has any idea who he crossed, doing this. If he'd ever met Jim, this would be a completely different story," she rolled her eyes, wrapping one arm around his neck and brushing her thumb over his collarbone. Idly, she wondered how much weight they were losing in here. They were fed, but infrequently, and not well. Honestly, she was relieved someone thought to give them water every day. "Do you think he has thermal cameras in here, or is he blind? I'm wondering if I can flick him off."
"Try anyway. No reason not to," he said with a smirk. "Did you hear that, DeWitt? Moriarty is going to tear you apart, and when he's finished, he's going to give what's left of your breathing carcass to us, and we're going to have our fun."
She raised her free hand and gave the room a good flipping off, chuckling when she dropped her arm again. It was strange, the kind of mood whiplash Moran could give her. She didn't feel good enough to examine that train of thought any further. "You got off easy, last time, Ryan. This time I promise I will leave with, at the very least, a kidney."
"Why settle for a kidney?" he asks, laughing. "Take everything he doesn't need to survive, which includes his cock and limbs, and sell them on the black market. Except for the cock. You should saute that and then send it to him in the hospital with a bow."
"What do you mean, send it to the hospital?" she grinned, shifting a little on his lap with excited energy. "He's not making it to a hospital. He'll die where ever they give him to me. I'll kill him in my own living room if that's where he is. Blood and guts everywhere."
"Oh, you've got to be more creative than that, darling," he laughed. "Let him live! Take his eyes and his tongue, and his legs and his arms. Leave him a blind, dumb little potato in chronic pain, let him live in misery. So much better than dying."
"Say that again," she laughed, half meaning the new pet name that she was almost certain was just a joke anyway, "Say 'dumb little potato' again, I'm begging you."
"Dumb little potato," he said, unable to help a chuckle. "Potential chips, little more." It was good to hear her laugh. She hadn't lately.
"Jesus Christ, you have no idea how hilarious it is hearing those words come out of your mouth," she laughed, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. For a moment she'd completely forgotten how utterly awful she felt, how much she was craving another hit, how poor their chances of walking out of here were. For a split second she considered saying something ridiculously unadvised, and then her senses came back to her. "Oh boy, am I going to have fun mutilating that bastard. And I thought I hated Mycroft."
He sighed, nodding in agreement. "Meathooks... I wonder where those are? I haven't used them in a while... I really need to organize all my shit. We can go for the nostalgia tour, bring up all the old favorites."
"Did you store them down in the basement? That seems the most logical place. Some big tupperware container with 'If You Touch This I'll Take A Hand in Payment' written on the lid with magic marker," she hummed, tapping her thumb against his clavicle absently in thought, then shifting slightly, looking up at him in the dark. "Christ, I kinda forget you were shirtless this whole time. Haven't you been cold?"
He laughed, shrugging. "A bit. I've been a bit distracted with other things. But you're not bleeding to death, so that's important."
"Yeah," she agreed, patting her side. "It's healing fairly well, to be honest. No one has felt the need to use it against me. Which was unexpected. Better nutrition would probably help, though."
"Yeah, what's with that?" he snorted. "Hear that, DeWitt? Your cooking sucks balls! Send us something a bit better, why don't you?"
"Literally a protein bar would be an improvement," she snorted, rolling her eyes.
"Seriously. The last thing we ate tasted like shit. Might have actually been shit. Thoughts, Harrison?" he asked, smirking.
"I was going to go as far as to say bear shit," she played along, mock-seriously. "I don't know, though, I'm not an expert on shit. I like eating real food."
"Well, I suppose it's not terrible, could be worse," he sighed. "I'm sorry, DeWitt, really. I'm sure you're slaving all day in the kitchen over that shit."
She chuckled and then let the conversation die, losing the energy to threaten DeWitt as her brain reminded her what he was capable of doing while she was here. She was silent for a minute, just taking a break from speaking, then said, "You know, we're kind of an odd combination of people to keep ending up in these situations. You, you I can see. I'm just a dirtied-down spy. Well. Okay, I take it back, we're exactly the combination of people to end up here."
He nodded, eyes shut as he took a slow breath. "Of course we are. This is what we sign up for when we take this line of work. Doesn't make it suck any less."
"I wish you were wrong," she sighed, blinking her eyes to try and keep herself from drifting off. It was tempting. He was warm, and she was exhausted and sore and just ready for unconsciousness, but she thought it was bad manners to fall asleep in his lap without asking first.
"Sometimes so do I, too, you know?" He takes a slow breath, closing his eyes, though it made no difference in the darkness of the room. "But it's worth it, most of the time."
She gave a small sound of amusement to show that she was listening, stifling a yawn with some effort. She didn't want to have to get up. Besides the obvious fact that she wished she was just not in this awful place, she wished for a decent shower. The next yawn she didn't catch in time. "Okay, I should move off of you before I turn into a puddle," she mumbled, beginning to unfold herself with creaking joints.
"If you want," he said, shrugging. "I was enjoying the warmth. You did steal my shirt for bandages."
"You gave it to me," she yawned, ditching the plan of getting up and crossing the room and just becoming vertical instead, half across his lap like a cat. "M' not moving, then. Wake me up if you need your legs or somethin'."
"If you give me two seconds, I'll lay down too and we can both sleep," he suggested, voice dripping sarcasm.
"What, two? No deal, that's ridiculous," she snorted, although she curled up her legs so he was free to move. He would be warmer next to her than he'd be sitting up, after all. There were absolutely no other reasons for this. None.
He smirked, shifting and laying down next to her. The cot was narrow and he almost shoved her off by accident, so obviously the logical conclusion was to shift her partially on top of him so they both had room. Warmer that way, anyway. He wrapped his arms around her, and shut his eyes.
As usual, she fell asleep almost the instant he stopped adjusting her. Honestly, it was probably one of her most useful traits. He dropped off not far behind.
For three days after that, they got no food, just bowls full of actual fucking shit, from who knew how many sources. They learned to curse the ceiling more quietly and less creatively after that.
Things went downhill from there. They were both dosed regularly, but not nearly often enough, the time between doses getting longer and longer as the days went on. Or maybe they just felt that way.
They slept next to each other more and more often. Moran's concern only increased when he began to realize that he could count Harrison's ribs easily with his fingers.
Chase Holfelder - All I Want For Christmas Is You (Minor Key)